


Sugar Kisses

by EntreNous



Series: Like Someone in Love: Pinto Ficlets [1]
Category: Actor RPF, Star Trek RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, First Kiss, M/M, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-13 20:53:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7136684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EntreNous/pseuds/EntreNous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Any time Mr. Quinto gets close enough to touch him, Chris’s cheeks heat up so quickly that he’s got to stare at his desk for at least five minutes before he can trust himself to look up.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sugar Kisses

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "chocolate kisses" for rabidchild67 over at tumblr, as part of Pinto de Mayo prompting.

Whenever Mr. Quinto pauses while walking around the history classroom and places his warm hand on Chris's shoulder, Chris freezes.

He's pretty sure Mr. Quinto is just trying to encourage him when he participates in discussion; a murmur of, "Very good, Chris," usually accompanies the touch, along with a quick squeeze of those strong fingers.

Too bad the contact has the opposite effect. Any time Mr. Quinto gets close enough to touch him, Chris's cheeks heat up so quickly that he's got to stare at his desk for at least five minutes before he can trust himself to look up.

When he does lift his head, trying to figure out what topic they're on now, Mr. Quinto's brown eyes usually fix on Chris immediately. More often than not, when he sees Chris is looking back, his lips curve up into a wry smile. 

Chris thinks about those strong hands and brown eyes and smiling lips way too often: standing in right field during baseball practice and missing a ball headed right for him; trudging home and trying not to look too hard at the passing cars, wondering if Mr. Quinto might be driving past; in his room at night, thinking about what would happen if he and Mr. Quinto were in that classroom all alone.

It gets so Chris can barely step inside Mr. Quinto's room, or even glance at his textbook for that class, without blushing like crazy. 

One particularly trying week ends with a rainy Friday afternoon in which Chris's entire day goes to hell. The practice he's been gearing up for gets canceled. The guy on his team who said he'd give Chris a ride home forgets his promise and peels out of the parking lot just as Chris jogs over. Of course there's no sign of a break in the thick storm clouds, so pretty soon he's not just soaked to the skin but freezing as well. And to top it all off, by the time Chris begins his long walk home in the downpour, he's feeling so starved that his vision starts to grey at the edges. 

He grumbles to himself and eats his way through the only snack he has on him, a fistful of smashed Hershey’s kisses he finds at the bottom of his backpack. They’re half-melted and mostly crushed together by his physics book, and he keeps getting bits of foil in his mouth every few bites, which is the most unfair thing ever. He’s scowling as he turns down a side street when suddenly a car slows next to him.

"Need a lift?" a deep voice asks.

Chris peers at the driver and, oh fuck, it's Mr. Quinto with his window partway down. He's smiling that gorgeous smile of his, and his car looks so warm and dry.

"I -- yeah?" Chris clutches his backpack to his chest. "But I'll get your car all wet."

Mr. Quinto grins wider. "Pretty sure I can handle it. Hop in."

Chris manages to get inside with minor fumbling at the door handle and only the briefest scramble to get his backpack out of a puddle he'd dropped it in.

"Thanks," he mumbles. As soon as he clicks his seatbelt fastened, he looks over at Mr. Quinto and then away just as quickly. Mr. Quinto's still dressed in the nice-looking buttoned shirt he wore when he taught earlier Chris that day, but he's loosened his tie, and rolled up his sleeves so that they cling to his biceps.

"Not a problem. Looks like I'm going your way anyway. Where are you headed?"

Chris stammers out his address and watches as Mr. Quinto pulls back onto the road. Though it's never occurred to Chris before to have a thing for hairy forearms, seeing Mr. Quinto's as his teacher turns the wheel sends a flush of heat through his body even with his clothes sopping wet.

By the time they arrive at Chris's house, the rain's doubled in strength, pelting the windshield with a quick-pulse rhythm.

"Crazy weather we're having. Too bad your folks couldn't pick you up after school," Mr. Quinto says lightly.

"They're both still at work," Chris blurts. For some reason, saying that aloud makes him blush harder.

Mr. Quinto nods, but his eyes drop down in distraction. Chris bites down on his lip, trying to figure out why.

Mr. Quinto makes a low soft sound.

That's when Chris realizes Mr. Quinto is staring at his mouth.

"Did you know --" Mr. Quinto pauses and swallows. "You have a little --" 

Chris goes utterly still as Mr. Quinto reaches out toward him. His thumb brushes over Chris's bottom lip.

All Chris can hear are the steady showers outside and his own shaky breathing inside the car.

"Just a little chocolate there," Mr. Quinto finishes as his hand falls away.

"Oh." Chris presses his lips together in a grimace. To think he'd actually hoped for a second that Mr. Quinto was maybe thinking about kissing him... Great, now he feels like a total moron; he probably looks like a toddler with chocolate smeared all over his mouth. "Okay, yeah." He laughs awkwardly. "Thanks, I guess." 

"No need to thank me." Mr. Quinto glances at his thumb, with the smear of chocolate on it, and then lifts it to his mouth to suck the chocolate off.

"Oh fuck," Chris whispers without thinking. 

This time when Mr. Quinto looks back at him, there's no question of what's on his mind. Chris leans forward hesitantly, but Mr. Quinto shows no qualms at just reaching over, threading his fingers through Chris's hair, and pulling him in for a kiss.

"Oh fuck," Chris says again desperately, but it comes out muffled against Mr. Quinto's demanding mouth.

They're both breathing hard by the time they part. 

"Chris," Mr. Quinto says, his voice thick.

"Um, you know, I don't really have to be home for a while," Chris chokes out. 

Mr. Quinto watches him, dark eyes intent. Then he smiles, slow and sure, and starts the car back up again.


End file.
